Like The Wind
by M.Kena
Summary: “You believe in wind, don’t you?” She asked. Dean looked at her. “I see what wind does. I don’t see what God does.” She smiled. “Well, you’re just not looking hard enough.” Dean has a crisis of faith when his world falls apart at the seams.
1. Chapter 1

**Title:** Like the Wind

**Summary:** "You believe in wind, don't you?" She asked. Dean looked at her. "I see what wind does. I don't see what God does." She smiled. "Well, you're just not looking hard enough." Dean has a crisis of faith when his world falls apart at the seams.

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing. Nothing important anyway. Oh, and please, check your religious preference at the door if you can. This isn't meant to discriminate against anyone or belittle any form of faith or religion. That would never be my intention. I just had a talk at 3 am this morning with my friend about religion and it kind of stuck with me. And I just thought that with everything, John probably didn't make a point to take his boys to church every Sunday. Personally, I'm a very accepting and open person and make judgments based on the person, not the religion. So to insult anyone is absolutely accidental and I apologize now. Please keep open minds. Okay, read now. : )

**Warning:** Bad language lies ahead. Character death. AU, obviously. Some disturbing images/descriptions. Sensitive themes perhaps. No Mary-Sues. If you think you see one, sorry, that's an accident too, cause Mary-Sues make me want to throw up a little. Maybe one or two OCs, but never love interests (okay, except for a little implied romance, but its one of those never-in-a-million-years kind). Relax.

* * *

There is something to be said of little brothers.

For all the years they spend following you like a little puppy, your hating their presence really comes back to bit you in the ass.

Because right now, Dean would give the world—and his left nut on a fucking silver platter—to have Sam with him again.

He hadn't even realized he'd done it until he'd opened the motel door to two beds. He threw his bags on one as fresh scars bled freely again.

Only one bed would be occupied tonight. Ever again.

Dean wanted nothing more than to jump into the shower, turn the water to scalding, and wash it all away. Wash away the dirt, the smell, the blood, the memory, the pain. Wash it all away and watch it disappear down the drain.

Then, he wanted to walk out and find Sam asleep with his boots on. Then he wanted to tuck his little brother in and whispered goodnight.

He just wanted the blood to go away.

Every time he looked at his hands, they were red again. No matter how he scrubbed, they were always red.

Whenever he looked down he saw his baby brother's blood all over his hands.

* * *

_**Dean Winchester**_

**_April 15, 1996_**

**_Bible Lit., period 3_**

**_Describe your family. Your upbringing. Do you have a strong faith? (Remember, it's okay to be candid and talk about religion, that's what this class is all about) Expose your skeletons if you're strong enough, I want to know you, the real you. Remember, this essay is between you and me and whoever else you share it with. (wink wink Lauren and Karen). Much love my pupils, Miss. Mason. _**

I don't hate the way I was raised.

I mean, I don't really know any different so it's not like I have anything to compare it to.

I guess I have all that I need. I have my Dad and my brother, clothes on my back, food in stomach and enough money to keep us off the streets.

Really, what more do you need?

Well, in all truth it'd be nice—really nice—to have a mother—to have my mother back—but there are some things no amount of wishing and hoping can ever bring closer.

My mother died when I was four. There was a fire. My father handed me my baby brother and I ran him out of the house. I didn't look back.

I've never looked back.

We move a lot. My Dad has trouble keeping jobs, and the work he does find takes us all over the country. It's hard, especially for Sam—that's my brother—but as long as we stay together, it's not that bad. I'm good at making friends, if I try. But it has never seemed worth it really. In the end we always leave again and it's just more goodbyes.

My father once told me that love is just a prelude to pain, and although I was too little to really grasp the meaning of what he'd confided in me, I've remembered it to this day and I still hold it to be true.

My Dad isn't a bad guy. He's really not. I mean, with all the crap he's been dealt, I think he's done a good job. He tries. He really tries and he's done good by us. But sometimes, he gets so caught up in his grief that he forgets that he's got children who need him.

He forgets that she died. Not them. He forgets to live sometimes and that's the hardest part.

So with my Dad forgetting to live and all that, its never been a big deal in my family to go to church or read the bible or even think about God.

I don't think my Dad believes in God anymore. Not with all the pain he's suffered through and all the bad things he's seen.

And sometimes, I'm not sure I believe in God either. Sometimes, when life just seems so hard and so wrong, I can't honestly believe someone would put us here and let us hurt this bad. If God is so great, why does life hurt so bad? Shouldn't God care? Shouldn't God come to us? I just… I struggle with faith and God because I can't see it. I can't prove it and I'm not good at closing my eyes and taking someone's word for it.

I can't be told the sky is blue and just believe it. I have to look at see it for myself. With God… I just haven't seen it yet.

Or maybe I haven't opened my eyes. Because I've always been a fan of the mantra; ignorance is bliss. And I'd hate to open my eyes and be disappointed.

So for now, I'm good with keeping them closed.

_Dean crinkled the paper into a ball and tossed it over his shoulder. It joined the other three papers that had met the same fate. Each one more and more painfully personal. _

_**Dean Winchester**_

**_April 15, 1996_**

_**Bible Lit., period 3**_

**_Describe your family. Your upbringing. Do you have a strong faith? (Remember, it's okay to be candid and talk about religion, that's what this class is all about) Expose your skeletons if you're strong enough, I want to know you, the real you. Remember, this essay is between you and me and whoever else you share it with. (wink wink Lauren and Karen). Much love my pupils, Miss. Mason. _**

There is me, my Dad and Sammy, my little brother. Our Mom died when I was four and we've never been whole since.

We don't have a religion because when your family shatters, that just doesn't seem important.

We don't have skeletons. We have graveyards. But if I exposed them, I'd have to kill you.

The end.

_Dean smiled and nodded, pleased with himself. That sounded like the Dean Miss Mason knew. _

_"You've been working on that for a long time." Sam said softly, walking into the small room Dean had claimed as his own. _

_They were staying with Joshua for a while, just until John finished his latest job. _

_Dean shrugged and folded the paper up, slipping it into his text book. "Yeah well, it's worth a few points and Josh will kill me if get bad marks again." _

_Sam smiled and sat down on Dean's bed, absently scratching around the stitches on his forearm. "Dude, that was so funny." Sam whispered as he remembered the fight Dean and Josh had had over the D in English. _

"You speak English, Dean! How can you fail your native language?"

"Dude! Did you even go to school? I'd get a freaking A plus if all we had to do was talk! We have to worry about commas and sentence structure and shit…"

"Maybe if you used your upstairs brain for a few hours you'd get decent grades. Go up to your room… and… and read something!"

"Fine!"

"And not Playboy!"

_"Hey. Not all of us are blessed with your freakish intelligence, okay?" Dean teased. Sam looked at him seriously. _

_"You're smart, Dean." Sam said gently. _

_"Just not book smart." Dean filled in and looked at his little brother, smiling genuinely. "But that's why I have you, Geek-Boy." He reached out and ruffled Sam's hair affectionately. _

_"I believe I told you to hit the sack about an hour ago." Josh said from the doorway, yawning, his six year old niece Harper asleep in his arms. _

_And yes, her mother was a To Kill a Mockingbird fanatic. Joshua had barely talked her out of naming their first son Jem. _

_"Ben is snoring." Sam explained, rubbing at his eyes. "And besides, it's barely ten." _

_"You have school in the morning." Josh reminded him and then looked at Dean. "Burning the midnight oil tonight?" _

_Dean nodded. "Probably. I gotta work on getting this just right." Josh nodded and shushed Harper when she moaned softly. _

_"All right. I'm going to put little Miss to bed, and when I come back, Sam I don't want to see you up." _

_"Yes, sir." The twelve year old said enthusiastically and Dean snickered as Sam marched out of the room. _

_Josh set Harper down on the nearest bed—Dean's bed. _

_"If she wets her pants…" Dean started and cracked a smile when Harper opened her eyes and sat up angrily. _

_"I haven't wet the bed since forever!" She cried. _

_"I thought you were asleep." Josh groaned, knowing she'd be up for another three hours if he was lucky. _

_She shrugged and stood up, swaying when the mattress dipped under her weight. Josh reached out to her and she latched on to his thick forearms with her tiny hands. She grinned at him and then let go so she could jump on the bed, her little blue nightgown swooshing around her knees. "I woke up." _

_"I see that." He sighed and ran a hand over his face, he was exhausted. That was the last time he took his brother's kids for a weekend. _

_"What are you doing?" Harper asked, directing her question at Dean. _

_"It's called homework, and its hell." _

_Harper ceased bouncing and pointed a finger at the older boy. "He said the bad word." She gasped. "Send him to the corner, Uncle J." _

_Dean rolled his eyes and turned back to his paper. _

_"Actually, how about you sit here with him while I go out and get some air?" Josh asked, smiling. Dean turned around at his desk and glared at the older—but not by much—man. _

_"Josh, come on man…" Dean whined. Josh shrugged. _

_"You said the bad word, Dean-o." Josh reasoned and Harper nodded. "You have to be punished." _

_"I'm so going to get you back for this." Dean growled when Harper jumped off the bed and skipped over to Dean's side. _

_"What are you writing?" She asked and took his paper from underneath his pen. He groaned loudly, but it did nothing to deter her. She sat down on the floor and stared at the paper, scrunching up her eyes, turning it left and right, bringing it closer to her face and then jerking it away. Her eyes lit up and she poked at the paper. "It's about a pretty, pretty princess, isn't it?" She asked, a big smile on her face. _

_"How did you know?" Dean asked, faking excitement. _

_"Is her name Harper?" She asked, handing him his paper. _

_"It is." Dean admitted and continued writing. _

_"And does she have a blue pony?" _

_"Uh huh." Dean guessed. She was much easier to tell stories to than Sam was. She basically told him the entire story and he just had to repeat it. She'd edit it and elaborate for him at random moments and at the end of the night, he'd be the one who got a bedtime story. _

_"What's her name?" Harper asked, she was standing now, her hands clasped behind her back, rocking on her feet. _

_"Uh… Tiffany?" Dean asked and Harper made a noise in her mouth and shook her head, her pigtails—which were an absolute disaster, considering not one of the four boys in the cabin knew how to braid or even deal with long hair—swung back and forth. "Barbie?" She burst out into giggles and shook her head. _

_"No! It's Dena!" She ran and crawled back on his bed. "Dena the pink horse. Not blue, you turkey." _

_"Did you just call me a turkey?" Dean asked, trying not to laugh. She nodded and laid down on his bed. "I thought you just woke up." _

_"I'm not going to bed." She said adamantly. _

_"Sure you're not." _

_She didn't answer. _

_"Night, Harper." _

_"Night, Dena." She whispered and he waited until he heard her breathing slow and even out before he started back on his homework. _

_Man, that girl burned out as fast and she turned on. _

_"She out?" Josh whispered, peeking his head into the doorway. Dean nodded. _

_"Yeah, you girl. You can't even handle your six year old niece?" _

_"Spend two days with her, Dean-o. Then call me a girl." Josh sat down on the edge of the desk and handed Dean an icy cold beer. "Just don't tell Johnny." He opened his bear, his calloused hands not registering the sharp edges of the top and he tossed the lid over his shoulder. "What are you writing?" _

_"A paper for Religion Appreciation." _

_"Sounds like fun. But isn't that illegal? The whole separation of church and state thing?" _

"_It's an elective, you don't have to take it." _

"_Oh. I bet Pastor Jim would love to read it when you're done." Josh teased. _

_"You know he's given up on that." Dean muttered, referring to Pastor Jim's delicate and slight attempts to convert Dean. "I can't believe in God if I don't want to." Josh nodded. _

_"Seems to me like none of the good hunters do. It just weighs them down, you know, the morals and shit." _

_"You patronizing me, Sir?" Dean asked. _

_"Not at all." Josh answered, taking a swig, ignoring Dean's own jab. When they called Josh, Sir, it wasn't to be respectful. _

_It was exactly the opposite in fact. _

_"Just making an observation. Your Daddy doesn't believe in God anymore." _

_"Do you blame him? After what took his wife." _

_"Took your Mommy too. Still, your little brother prays every night." _

_"He's also only twelve." _

_"And smarter than you and your Dad combined." _

_"Smart isn't the same as wise, asshole." _

_"Cause you have so much life experience under your belt." Josh said sarcastically. _

_"Whatever man, I don't need your bull. Just let me finish my paper." _

_"I heard this one time, "faith is, at one and the same time, absolutely necessary and altogether impossible." Sometimes, we just need something to believe in, to keep us strong and certain that tomorrow the sun is going to rise again and we'll be forgiven for the things we have done yesterday. Even if believing in something we cannot see, and putting all faith we have to give in the hands of a higher power we don't know exists scares the hell out of you, you'll never feel alone if you can conjure that much bravery.."_

_Dean turned and looked at the man, who was barely an adult himself, just reached legal drinking age a year ago. _

_"So tell me, oh great one, which religion is right? I mean, we have Christians, Jewish and then we've got the Muslims. I mean, who got it right?" _

_"They all did." _

_"They're all right?" Dean asked skeptically. _

_"Yep." Josh nodded. _

_"Even those who have a God who tells them to strap a fucking bomb to their chest, stand in the middle of a city and detonate? That God who tells them to kill a thousand innocent people and they'll get their hoard of beautiful virgins is right too? Because in Christianity, a stunt like that would get them sent to hell for sure. Oh, but wait." Dean paused. "If they said they were sorry God would put them in the same place as the little old ladies who never so much as got a speeding ticket. That's bullshit, Josh and you know it. There can't be a God. Too much fucked up shit happens. If there was a God, he wouldn't have let us unravel this far." _

_Josh smiled and shook his head sadly. "Good paper you've got there, Dean-o." He got up, picked up Harper and left the room. _

_"And its Dean!" Dean yelled after him. He sighed and leaned back in the chair. _

_He remembered a discussion they'd had in class one day. Miss Mason had a way of making everyone listen. _

_Or at least look. _

_Dean did a lot of looking. _

_Miss Mason was young, and often her kids just called her Mercy. Yeah, Mercy Mason. Her grandpa had a thing about matching first and last names. When Mercy named her son, whom ironically was born out of holy wedlock, Alexander, he was more upset over the name then the sin. Not that anyone believes in abstinence anymore anyway. _

_"Religion can be viewed in many ways. Some are better than others, and although no one will say it, except me, because you all know I'm not afraid to say anything." She smiled, her eyes finding Dean's and he smiled back. _

_She made sure to talk to him everyday. Catching him after class or before, always smiling and asking him about his day. The way he came to class bruised, broken or not all frequently didn't go unnoticed by her. She'd called John several times and checked up on Sam a few times as well. She was different. She cared.  
"Some can be worse." She continued. "Let's… liken religion to a medicine. If you take it like… vitamins, those hugemongous green horse pills, to strength you against temptation, that's what religion is designed for. At least that's what I've gathered over the years. Remember, you can draw your own conclusions, and I urge you to. I can't tell you what to believe and I've never want to. We must all come up with our own choices, I'm just giving the information I've been given." _

_She was always careful—a little too careful in Dean's opinion—not to discriminate or push anyone's buttons. She was a new teacher, fresh off of quitting her old job because of 'personal reasons'. But it was common knowledge around the water fountain that she and the principal had been hot and heavy and she left before things got too intense. _

_Of course, she had had little Alec a few months before coming to the new school. _

_"You can take it like an antibiotic, like that amazing night time cough medicine which is keeping me alive with the flu going around and whatnot." She looked pointedly at Lucas Meyer, the first boy in their class to miss a day because of the flu. He looked away and she ruffled his hair lovingly. "Religion can be like medicine to cleanse your system and help you feel good again." _

_"That seems wrong." Lauren Hansen, the class loudmouth blurted. "You can just use religion like that. You have to always be faithful." _

_Miss Mason nodded, listening and praising Lauren for being brave enough to speak. "That's one opinion, Lauren, and one that many agree with. But there is truly no right or wrong in religion." _

_"Sometimes people who've gotten hurt, or lost their way turn to religion for the strength they lacked before. It's like a support to help them get up again." Kyle Rainier, the class know it all, argued. _

_Miss Mason nodded and smiled, sitting on the edge of her desk. She loved it when they got to debating. _

_"Or a crutch." _

_Everyone turned to look. _

_Dean didn't speak much in class. He normally kept to himself. _

_The others thought he was just a weird quiet kid. They all thought he was abused. I mean, how could they not? He was always hurt. _

_This time his arm was in a sling and he thought he remembered his ribs being bruised, but he couldn't be sure. _

_"How so?" Kyle asked. _

_Dean shrugged. "Well… if you turn to religion to be your strength… you stop relying on yourself and put all your dependence on something that may or may not be real." _

_"Are you saying God isn't real?" Lauren asked, shocked. _

_Dean shrugged again. "I didn't say he wasn't. But I didn't say he is." _

_"He is." She snapped. _

_"You believe that. Someone else might believe something else." _

_She turned away from him and raised her hand. "Miss Mason, tell him." _

_"Lauren, honey. What am I supposed to tell him?" _

_"That he's wrong." _

_"There is no right or wrong in religion." She walked over to Lauren and squeezed her shoulder. "You all have good points." She looked at Dean. "Yours brings me to my next point. Religion can also be used as an aspirin, or like a drug, or as Mr. Winchester put it, as a crutch, to take away the pain of mistake and sin and keep you from confronting the route pain." _

_The bell rang and the class got up and left within a minute. _

_Dean hung back. _

_"It's amazing. They're always late getting here, but they can leave in an instant." She mused aloud and then looked over at him. "You made a good point, Dean."  
"Just how I've always felt." _

_"So, do you believe in God?" She asked. _

_"Used to. My Mom… prayed with me every night when I was little. But after she died…" He shook his head. "No. Not anymore." _

_She nodded. "I can understand that. After… when my son was born, he was premature." She grinned. "And I know you've heard the rumors about his father, and me not being married." _

_Dean tried to stay stoic, but he nodded. "Yeah, I've heard them." _

_She smiled and continued. "I gave up my faith, hating that something as simple as a silly mistake could make you a sinner. Especially since it was the happiest moment of my life when I held Alec for the first time. Anyway, my point is, when he was born, he wasn't able to breathe on his own. His lungs were under-developed and they told me he wouldn't survive the night. You know what I did?" _

_"Cried?" Dean asked softly. _

_She laughed and nodded. "Hysterically. But I also prayed. I hadn't prayed once, not even for his health while I was pregnant, not once for forgiveness for having him out of wedlock. I'd turned my back on God." She walked over to him and sat on the desk next to his. "But he didn't turn his on me." _

_"How do you know Alec just wasn't strong enough? Or that the doctors saved him." _

_"They did. He was strong enough. I'm not saying there was some sort of divine intervention. But I had something to turn to when everyone else had deserted me, I had something to rely on when my inner strength just wasn't enough." They were both quiet. "You believe in wind, don't you?" She asked. _

_Dean looked at her. "I see what wind does. I don't see what God does." _

_She smiled. "Well, you're just not looking close enough." _

_

* * *

__Dean stood outside the school, hanging back by the edge of the parking lot, waiting for Mrs. Ross to release her class. _

_Sam would be angry Dad wasn't picking him up like he'd promised, but the hunt had gone slightly wrong and John desperately needed some R&R. _

_The door opened an a mob of little first graders ran outside, their technicolored backpacks bouncing up and down as they ran towards their parents' outstretched arms or climbed into mini-vans. _

_Dean walked towards the front, still limping from that last run in with a werewolf. Those claws were awfully sharp. _

_Sam was normally the first one out. _

_Dean had yet to see him. _

_"Hey kid." Dean called, grabbing the backpack of a kid he recognized to be in Sam's class. "Where is Sam?" _

_The kid looked back at the building. "He went to the bathroom." _

_Dean nodded his thanks and went into the school, flashing the woman in the attendance office a smile. "Picking up my brother." He explained and slipped into the bathroom. _

_He heard sobbing before he'd even taken two steps inside. _

_"Sam?" Dean called, looking under stall doors for Sam's blue shoes. _

_"Dean?" Sam asked, sniffling. _

_"Yeah, dude. Come out." _

_The last stall door opened and Sam barreled straight to his brother, wrapping his arms around his brother's waist tightly, sobbing against his shirt. _

_"Sam?" Dean asked worriedly, holding him out at arms length. "What's wrong?" _

_"We… we were… Michael told me… me… told me that." He was sucking in violent gasps, sobbing so hard he was going to make himself sick, or have an asthma attack. _

_Dean squeezed his shoulders and knelt down. _

_"Sam, stop." He said softly. "Calm down. It's okay." _

_Sam took a deep shuttering breathe and squeezed his eyes shut, two fat tears worked their way out from between his eyelashes and Dean wiped them away. _

_"Michael said that… if we're not Christian we… spend forever getting eaten by the devil monster… when we di.. die." Sam sobbed and shook his head. "I don't wanna… get eated." _

_Dean sighed and hugged Sam closed. "Michael is an idiot." Dean assured him. "He doesn't know what he's talking about, Sam." _

_"But… he said…" _

_"Sam." Dean pulled back and smoothed away Sam's long hair. "If you're a good person, you go to heaven. Okay? And you're the best person I know." _

_"Michael said that killers… go to hell." _

_"They do." Dean agreed and suddenly Sam's eyes widened and he broke down into frame rattling sobs. _

_"Sammy?" _

_"You and Daddy… kill things…" _

_"Bad things, Sammy." Dean corrected, realizing his mistake. Just last week, Sam had watched John and Dean kill a shape-shifter, a person. "We kill bad things, that's okay. We won't go to hell for that." _

_If there even is a hell. _

_Or a heaven. _

_Or a God. _

_Sam sniffled and looked at his brother with wet eyes. "Promise?" He asked and wiped his nose with the back of his hand. "'Cause Becca Miller said…" _

_"You going to be believe Becca Miller over me? Your big brother?" Dean asked incredulously. _

_"You did say that broccoli was poison." Sam reminded him. Dean smiled. _

_"That was a joke. Gees, Sam, you've gotta learn the difference between a joke and the truth or you're not going to survive in this family." _

_"Mrs. Ross told me that half of what you say when you're joking is the truth." Sam informed his brother, his breath only hitching slightly now. He grasped Dean's hand tightly as they left the bathroom. _

_Dean only nodded. _

_Smart woman. _

_"What else did you learn today?" Dean asked, changing the subject quickly. Sam's face lit up and he jumped while Dean walked. _

_"We practiced times tables, and learned how to make cranes out of paper, but mine ripped. Then, when we went to recess we played capture the flag and no one could catch me, Dean! I was too fast. And, and, I got a gold star for being Miss Ross's VIC." _

_"VIC?" _

_"Very important cougar, because they're our mascot." Sam explained, pointing at the paw prints that decorated the walkway to the parking lot. "Where's Dad?" Sam asked, looking for the familiar Impala. _

_Dean sighed. "He's resting Sam." _

_"Did he get hurt?" Sam asked, his hand squeezing Dean's. _

_"Just a few scratches. He'll be okay in a few days." _

_"But my play is tomorrow, Dean!" Sam yelled, yanking his hand away from Dean's. _

_Dean heard a car honk and he watched as a few of the high schoolers drove past the school at dangerous speeds. _

_Idiots. _

_Fridays just brought the worst out in the new drivers. _

_"Sammy, I'll tape it for him." _

_"But that's not the same!" Sam cried. _

_The car honked again and Dean watched as it plowed through the chain link fence of the school yard, driving across the small field, heading straight for them. _

_"Sam!" Dean yelled and had every intention of pushing Sam out of the way, but the driver slammed on their breaks. The car fishtailed in the dirt and the back end swung around, slamming into the both of them. Dean was tall enough that he rolled over the top of the car and landed on the other side. Hurt like a bitch, but he wasn't under the wheels. _

_"Oh my God! Oh my God!" The passenger, a girl, got out of the car. "Fuck! Kirk you hit them! You idiot." Dean heard the engine rev and the car took off. "Hey!" The girl was still screaming. "You asshole!" _

_Dean opened his eyes and coughed, tasting blood. "Sam." He croaked and the girl ran to his side. _

_"Don't move. Oh my God, don't move. I'm calling 911." _

_"My brother." Dean groaned and sat up. "Where is my brother?" _

_"I'm so sorry." She sobbed, her blue eyes full of tears. Dean looked at her and she had blood running down her face. _

_God he hoped that wasn't Sam's blood. _

_"Where is my brother?" He asked again and she ignored him, trying to give the police their address. _

_Dean looked around and froze when he saw the familiar mop of brown hair. _

_Oh, God. _

_Dean scrambled to his feet. _

_Sam had been under the car. _

_Oh, God. _

_Dean ran to his brother, mouthing a prayer. _

_Yeah. A prayer. _

_God, please. Let him be okay. I swear, I'll never look at another one of Tyler's Dad's Playboys ever again. I won't kiss Joana behind the dumpsters anymore. Please, let him be okay. I'll do everything better. Please, let Sammy be okay. _

_"Sam." Dean whispered, his voice breaking. He reached out to touch his brother, who had curled into the fetal position, and Sam lifted his head. _

_"Dean?" Sam asked and turned over, instantly scrambling into his brother's arms. "I was under the car, Dean." Sam sobbed. "It ran me over." _

_Dean nodded, laughing harshly, though it was anything but funny. "I know, kiddo. I know." _

_"You're bleeding." Sam whispered, touching Dean's lips. _

_"You're burnt." Dean whispered back, looking at the angry red marks on Sam's leg from where it'd touched the bottom of the car. "But you're okay. We're okay. It's okay." Dean held Sam close and continued the mantra, rocking them back and forth, for the first time in a long time, he thanked God. _

_He lost faith again a few months later when his friend Tyler was kidnapped and murdered by some man in a dark blue van. _

_Sometimes you got lucky. _

_Sometimes you got fucked. _

_God had nothing to do with it. _

_

* * *

__She never took any notice of the scars on his face. _

_He was grateful for that. _

_She made him feel whole again. She didn't draw attention to what he was missing and for a few minutes he could feel like he had everything again. _

_"You know." She whispered one night, her hand resting over his heart. "No one else could love you the way that I do." _

_He didn't doubt it. _

_Not for one second. _

_He sat up and rolled out of the bed. "I gotta take off in the morning." He explained. _

_He watched her mood crumble, but she didn't say anything, too afraid to scare him off for good this time. _

_"When am I going to see you again?" She asked. _

_He shrugged. "Not sure. I'll call you." _

_"No. You won't." She shook her head. He nodded and walked back to the bed, leaning down to leave her with a soft kiss. _

_"You're right. But you never know, maybe we'll get lucky." _

_"Just…" She grabbed his hands. "Come back to me alive, okay? If I get a call from Bobby or someone telling me you're dead… I don't know what I'll do." _

_"You'll move on and find the husband you deserve to have. You'll have beautiful children and name your son Dean." He teased. _

_"I only want you and your children." _

_"I'm not that guy." _

_"You're right. But you never know, maybe we'll get lucky." She whispered and kissed him again. "And I wouldn't name him Dean." _

_"No?" _

_"Samuel." She breathed. "I'd name him Samuel." _

_Dean closed his eyes against tears he'd been fighting for years. Their faces were inches apart, both had their eyes closed, their fingers intertwined, just feeling each other. _

_"That's a good name." Dean whispered, his voice horse and deep. _

_She didn't dare speak before he did, so careful not to push him away because one day he wasn't going to come back to her and she knew that. _

_"I should leave." He whispered. _

_She kept her eyes closed and nodded. She heard him shift, felt him get up, but he still held her hands. _

_"You should forget me." He breathed into her ear. _

_"Couldn't even if I wanted to." She answered and bit her lower lip when he dropped her hands. _

_The door opened and she stood, her eyes finally opening. "Dean?" She called and he paused in the doorway. "If… if things had been different, could you have loved me?" She asked. "Could we have had a family?" _

_He grinned. "You wouldn't have wanted me. I've always been broken." _

_"You've never been broken to me." _

_He gave her another sad smile. "Goodnight." _

_He never said goodbye. Not once. Goodbye was too final. _

_She'd noticed that about him. He never finished anything. Left sentences without periods, never said goodbye. _

_She just figured he always needed something to go back to, to pick up and continue. So much had been ended for him. _

_He needed something to fall back on when the ground beneath him crumbled again. _

_

* * *

He looked at the gun for the second or eighth time._

It'd be so easy too.

Far easier than he deserved.

He'd thought about it.

Even before…

But he told himself he'd never pull the trigger because someone would have to clean him up. And now matter how many times you've seen something like that, people take that shit—blood and brains splattered on the wall—home with them. And he wanted his suicide to end the pain, not cause more for people who didn't deserve it.

Or at least, he had felt that way.

For some reason, he couldn't find the strength to care anymore.

He picked up the gun, yanked the sheet off the bed, wrapped it around his head sloppily—maybe he could save the maid a little sanity—and placed the gun under his chin.

He took a deep breath, anticipating the feeling as his brains exploded out the back of his skull and pressed down on the trigger.

Or… he would have had the gun still been in his hand.

"The hell." Dean's voice was muffled by the sheet and he wondered if he could just suffocate himself.

Something slapped him across the face and he yelped, the force pushing him off the bed. He landed blindly on the floor and sat up fast, yanking the sheet off his head.

"Are you really that stupid?!"

Dean gasped and crawled backwards until his back hit the bedside table hard enough to knock the lamp to the floor.

"Jesus Christ!" Dean yelled and picked up the lamp, holding it in front of him.

"No. But I'm flattered. And if I was Jesus Christ, what would a lamp do?" Sam laughed, his familiar goofy smile lighting up his face.

"Stay, back!"

"Come on Dean, it's me."

"No." Dean whispered, shaking his hand, the lamp trembling in his hands. "No. It can't be."

Sam took a step toward him and Dean got to his feet, trying to move back even though there was no where to go.

"Stay away from me!" Dean's voice was hysterical and he managed to scramble to the other side of the bed.

"Dean." Sam cooed, his hands out in front of him. "Really man, it's me. It's Sam."

"No!" Dean cried, letting his hands drop. "You're dead."

Sam smiled sadly. "Yeah. Kinda sucks." Sam walked closer, and Dean backed up into the corner. "You don't have to be scared."

"Fuck that. Man, you're a Casper. I saw you die." Sam continued towards him. "I mean it Sam. Stay away from me." Dean saw the gun out of the corner of his eye and dove for it, pointing it straight at his brother. "You're not real. You're not real. You're not him. Sam died." He repeated, his eyes closed tightly.

"Dean. Bullets aren't going to do anything to me. You said it yourself. I'm a Casper."

"Full of rock salt, bitch."

"You were going to try and kill yourself with rock salt?" Sam asked, nearly laughing.

Dean opened his eyes and looked at his brother—no, not brother. "I wasn't going to do it."

"You looked pretty close to me." Sam said softly.

Dean pointed the gun at the floor and pulled the trigger.

"Empty." He muttered and then tossed the gun on the bed.

He'd gotten into the habit of leaving guns unloaded, in case he'd ever gotten the courage to actually pull the trigger. As much as he missed Sam, he knew he couldn't die yet.

"Wait, why am I talking to you? You're not real." Dean sat down on the bed and clamped his hands over his ears. "I burned your bones." He yelled aloud. "I made sure you couldn't come back."

He felt a hand on his shoulder.

Felt it.

Knew it was there.

But knew it was impossible.

Ghosts aren't corporal.

"Dean." Sam whispered, and Dean could hear him. "I came back because you needed me."

Dean shook his head. "It doesn't work that way, Sammy. We know that. What's dead is dead, unless they're ghosts, and you can't be because I made sure you couldn't be. It would hurt more to lose you twice. I made sure…"

Dean's voice broke and he let his hands fall from his ears. He looked at his little brother, staring at the familiar features.

"I'm sorry." Dean whispered, trying to keep control on his emotions.

"I didn't come here so you could apologize."

Dean ignored him. "I should have been faster, better… It should have been me, Sam. You're the better one. I'm just wasting it."

Sam grabbed his brother's face and forced Dean to look at him.

"Stop it." Sam demanded. "Stop blaming yourself, okay? It's tired and useless."

Dean kept shaking his head, just staring at his brother, tears rolling down his cheeks. "I hate you so much." Dean whispered and reached out to grip the collar of Sam's shirt. "I hate you for leaving." He added and squeezed the fabric tightly, digging his fingernails into his own palms.

"That's okay." Sam whispered and slid his hands down to Dean's shoulders and then smiled. "Want to hit me?" He asked and Dean laughed harshly.

He smiled and looked down, shaking his head and tears clung to his eyelashes. "How long… can you stay with me?" Dean asked.

Sam smiled and patted Dean's cheek softly. "As long as you need me to, bro."

Dean looked at him. "Good thing I got two beds then, huh?"

Sam smiled sadly and nodded. "Go to sleep, Dean." Sam whispered. "You're exhausted."

Dean crawled to the top of the bed and laid his head on the pillow.

"Promise you'll be here when I wake up?" Dean asked. Sam nodded.

"I'm not going anywhere."

Dean closed his eyes and sleep found him quickly.

Sam sat down on the other bed and watched Dean sleep.

* * *

_"Dean?" Sam whispered. _

_"Hmm?" Dean responded, still partially asleep. _

_"Why do we have lines on the inside of our hands?" The six year old asked. _

_Dean groaned and sat up, turning on the little light. He squinted against the foreign brightness and watched Sam stare at his palm, opening and closing his hand. _

_The ten year old looked at the clock on his bedside table. _

_"It's three in the morning." _

_"Why?" Sam was persistent. _

_"They're lifelines." Dean answered, collapsing back to his pillow. "Tell you how long you're gunna live." _

_"Really?" Sam asked and sat up, holding his hand out towards Dean. "How long am I gunna live?" _

_"Not very long if you don't let me go back to sleep." Dean groaned and turned his back to his brother. _

_Sam huffed and stared at his hand, calculating with his fingers how many inches long his 'lifeline' was. "It's not very long, Dean." Sam realized in horror. "Does that mean I'm going to die soon?" _

_"Jesus Christ, Sam. Let me see it." Dean sighed angrily and sat up; he grabbed Sam's hand harshly, looked his palm over and laid back down. "You're going to live to eighty seven. Happy? Now go to sleep.' _

_Sam didn't say anything for a while, but then he spoke in a small voice. "How about you?" He asked, his voice trembling. _

_"I'm going to live as long as you need me." _

_"I'll always need you." _

_"Then I'm going to live until you're eighty seven." _

_"Good." _

_"Now sleep." _

_"Night, Dean." _

_"Night, Sammy." _

_"I love you." _

_"Sleep!" _

_"Hey, Dean?" _

_"What, Sam? What!" Dean yelled angrily. _

_"What if God takes one of us away?" Sam asked. "Like Mommy." _

_"Who told you God took Mommy away?" Dean asked, sitting up. _

_"Pastor Jim says that sometimes, God runs out of angels and he has to bring wonderful people like Mommy to heaven to be angels." _

_"God wouldn't do that to us. I won't let him." Dean assured his little brother. Sam shook his head. _

_"You can't control God." _

_"Who says?" _

_"Well..." He didn't have an answer for that. _

_"Don't worry about things like dying, Sam. Nothing like that will happen to you as long as I'm around." _

* * *

Dean opened his eyes and flinched away from the form hovering over him. He reached for his knife.

"Dean." Sam snapped. "It's me. Remember?"

Dean relaxed back into the pillow and smiled tiredly. "Sam."

"Yeah." Sam answered and sat back down, his arms crossed over his chest, appraising his older brother.

"See something you like?" Dean asked and sat up slowly.

"You're killing yourself."

"No. The gun wasn't loaded, Sammy." Dean reminded him, one arm wrapped around his middle.

"That's not what I mean, and you know it." Sam said angrily. "I get it, I do. I know how you feel, after Jess… "

"Don't!" Dean snapped and swung his feet off the bed. "Don't compare losing Jessica to losing you, Sam! There isn't even a comparison. Losing Dad didn't even hurt as bad as this. Don't for one minute think you know how I feel."

Sam stared at him for a while, watching his brother.

It was weird.

Sam knew he was dead. And he knew a long time had passed since he'd seen his brother, but for the life of him—or the death, you know what I mean—he couldn't remember where he'd been.

Probably part of the plan.

He hurt too. He missed Dean too. But it wasn't the pain he felt when Jessica died. It was like… the kind of missing you do when you go on vacation and you count the days until you can see your family again.

It was only a matter of time until he saw his brother again, until then he just had to chill somewhere he doesn't remember right now.

Man…

Their lives were weird enough before he died.

"I know, it hurts." Sam continued. "But you've got to keep going. You can't stop living because I have."

"Who says?" Dean pouted. "I'm only alive until you stop needing me, remember? And I promised you I wouldn't let God tear us apart…"

"I thought you didn't believe in God?"

"I don't even know what I believe anymore." Dean admitted and his breath began to hitch. Sam knew his brother was either about to cry, or have a panic attack. "Can… can you just… be real?" Dean asked, and choked back a sob.

"I'm real to you."

"But no one else can see you?"

"Usually how it works."

"Fuck, Sam." Dean whispered and grabbed his brother and pulled him closed. "I miss you." He held Sam as close and he could, breathing him in, feeling him, just being near him. He'd missed Sam so much that he physically ached.

Everyday seemed impossible. He felt like each step he took brought him right back to where he started.

Without Sam.

"Do you remember when you told me that as long as I was good person, I'd go to heaven?" Sam asked. Dean nodded, still holding his brother. "I'm pretty sure you were right."

"Pretty sure? Well, that's comforting." Dean laughed and let go, though he kept a hand fisted in Sam's shirt.

"I don't really remember." Sam admitted. "I don't know where I've been. I remember being with you that night… then nothing for a long time and now, I'm here and I don't remember the in between. But it was warm. And I think it was good. Sorry I can't tell you more; it'd make it easier for you, wouldn't it? Knowing I was going to a good place when I leave again?"

"It's probably better this way." Dean admitted. "I've been fighting the idea of heaven and hell all my life, hate to ruin the surprise now."

"We should go for a walk. You need to get some fresh air."

* * *

So, I had to cut this in half. Because it was way massive. As you can tell.

Tell me what you think (Because I'm freaking out over it.)

(oh, and if you got alerted twice, its because I had to edit this chapter. Sorry.)


	2. Chapter 2

**Title:** Like the Wind

**Summary:** "You believe in wind, don't you?" She asked. Dean looked at her. "I see what wind does. I don't see what God does." She smiled. "Well, you're just not looking hard enough." Dean has a crisis of faith when his world falls apart at the seams.

**Disclaimer:** Same as before.

**Warning:** Same as before.

* * *

_"In and out." Dean said confidently. "Simple haunting." _

_"You don't have a bad feeling?" Sam asked, staring up at the old house. Dean looked at him. _

_"I don't. Your Shining telling you something bad?" Dean asked, also pausing to look at the old shack. _

_"It's nothing." Sam insisted and tucked his pistol into his waistband. _

_Dean nodded and led the way into the house. He opened the door and walked right in. _

_"Dean!" Sam yelled and Dean whirled around to face his brother. _

_Sam was staring at the stairwell. _

_"What are you doing here?" A man yelled and Dean instantly knew they were fucked. _

_They'd busted into a meth house. _

_Shit. Shit. Shit. _

_"Um… looking for a fix?" Dean tried. _

_The man on the stairs drew his gun and fired a shot. The impact forced Dean back several steps into Sam's chest where his little brother kept him upright. _

_"Sonofabitch!" Dean yelped, looking down at his side where a dark red rose had begun to bloom on his shirt. His knees betrayed him and he slumped to the ground. _

_He watched from his position at Sam's feet as Sam took a bullet to the chest, and managed to stay vertical long enough to invalidate their opponent. _

_In other words, he shot the bastard in the head. _

_Sam staggered back against the doorway and slid to the ground, his breath coming out in harsh pants. His teeth were red and Dean knew a lung must have collapsed. _

_"Sammy." Dean winced, trying to crawl to his brother. The initial shock of the gunshot wound had worn off and he felt the pain now. _

_But none of that mattered, because Sam was fading fast, bleeding way too much. _

_Sam's head rolled to the side weakly and they made eye contact. Sam tried to smile. "In and out?" He asked. _

_Dean tried to laugh. "Yeah, next time we'll research more." _

_"Next time." Sam agreed, nodding, his eyes drifting shut. _

_"Hey, stay awake, man." Dean said loudly, pulling himself closer to his brother, his back against the other side of the doorway so they faced each other. "Someone heard those gunshots. Help will be here soon. We're going to be okay." _

_"Dean?" Sam asked, his voice trembling and words slurring. More and more blood bubbled over his lips and his breathing grew more and more labored. "I'm glad that it was you." _

_"What?" _

_"If one of you had to live, I'm glad it was you. Dad… I love him, but I've always needed you." _

_"Shut up, Sam." Dean whispered, coughing. Damn it was cold out... _

_"Dean?" _

_"Stop talking, Sam." Dean whispered, trying not to cry because he knew, deep down, that Sam was saying goodbye tonight. _

_"I never meant to leave you. I just… I had to get out. I couldn't stay and watch you die for me. I love you too much for that." _

_"Don't do this, Sammy." Dean begged. "Please. Just hang on for me." _

_"You'll be okay." Sam whispered._

_"No!" Dean yelled. "Don't you fucking dare! Don't leave me alone! Don't do this!" Dean yelled, mustering all his strength to get to Sam's side. "I fucking mean it, Samuel Winchester. Don't you fucking die on me. That's an order, soldier. You keep your eyes open and stay alive!" _

_Sam's head fell forward and Dean shook him. _

_"No! No don't do this!" Dean sobbed, shaking Sam still. He put his fingers on Sam's neck. "Fuck!" He screamed when there was no pulse under his fingertips. _

_He laid his brother down and started CPR. _

"_One. Two. Three. Four. Five." He counted. Ten more compressions and Dean held Sam's face gently, tipped his head back and breathed for his little brother. _

_He felt for a pulse. There was none. "Come on, Sam…" He whispered as he began the second round. _

_Dean's arms were straining and he knew he couldn't keep it up much longer. He had been shot too, though he was trying desperately to ignore that. He couldn't succumb to blood loss yet, not when Sam needed him. _

_He stopped before he started compressions for the sixth time and pounded on Sam's chest. "Damn you, Sam!" He yelled and pounded again. "Just breathe for me, dammit." His voice broke and he fell forward, his face pressed into Sam's neck. _

_The absence of a pulse made him shiver. _

_Dean hugged Sam to his chest. "It's okay." He whispered. "I'll fix it. I'll make it better." He sobbed and then looked up through the rotting cieling, partially at the ceiling, and partially at the night sky. _

_He wished he had enough energy to pull them inside and shut the door because it was getting dark outside and Sam was cold. _

_"Bring him back." Dean whispered, staring at the sky. "Fucking give him back to me!" He said louder and buried his face in Sam's hair. "Please… just give him back…" _

_It'd happened too fucking fast. _

_Sam just died. _

_And the world was still going. _

_Shouldn't the world have imploded by now? _

_Shouldn't something have blown up, or fallen from the sky? _

_Jesus Christ, not even a fucking rain cloud? _

_Dean sat there for a long time, just holding his brother's body. _

_He would have been perfectly content with sitting there and bleeding to death, but someone had to care. _

_He woke up a day later in a hospital and the first thing he did was ask about his brother. _

_He wasn't very surprised when no one answered him. _

* * *

Sam had been in and out for nearly a month. He'd show up and random when Dean was alone—which was almost all the time.

He reminded Dean to eat and to sleep and to not put that gun to his forehead because _we're not quite ready for you yet_.

"I got you something." Sam said one day as Dean walked towards the local supermarket. He felt the sun on his face and suddenly couldn't remember the last time he'd felt this… okay. The sun was out and he felt like maybe he could be okay.

"Hmm?" Dean hummed, trying to keep the talk to a minimum. He was all ready talking to a ghost in the privacy of his motel room, didn't need to bring it outside too.

"Behind you."

Dean turned and groaned.

"Hell no, Sam. I can't take care of a dog." The little Labrador jumped up on Dean's legs and licked at his hand.

"I always thought you'd have been a good dog person."

"I did take care of you." Dean agreed and knelt down to pet the mutt. The dog rolled over on to his back, its whole body quivering as it wagged its tail. There was quiet and Dean sighed. "You're leaving, aren't you?" He asked, patting the dog on the stomach.

"Have to." Sam explained. "You need to move on now."

"I'm not ready to say goodbye. I don't want to."

Sam smiled. "We don't have to. I'm always going to be with you."

"Not the way I want." Dean pouted.

"But it's what we've been given."

"It's not enough."

"It's never enough, but we'll have to make due." Sam pushed his hands into his pockets and Dean smiled.

"Did you really get me a dog?" He asked. Sam laughed.

"Naw. The mutt just followed me, that's all. Not that I don't think he's perfect for you."

"It can see you?"

"Dogs are pretty amazing like that. And I think this one is extra special."

"Reminds me of you." Dean whispered. "Got the same puppy dog eyes and everything. I think I'll name him Sammy."

"I'm flattered." Sam said sarcastically. There was silence for a while as Sam watched Dean play with the dog. "You did good by me, Dean." He whispered gently, and the puppy looked at the youngest brother, sensing the seriousness of the moment. It sat at Dean's feet, its tail barely moving as it rested on the grass. "You did all you could do for me, stop blaming yourself for what happened."

"I'll never stop blaming myself."

"Had to try." Sam said softly and laid his hand on Dean's shoulder.

"See you around, then?" Dean asked hopefully. Sam squeezed his shoulder, keeping his hand firmly in place.

"Not too soon, okay? Take care of Sammy."

Dean nodded, and blinked as his eyes began to sting. "Always have." He whispered gruffly, his throat constricting.

Sam nodded back and patted his shoulder. "Yeah. You have."

Dean looked at his brother and forced a smile through the tears. "Bitch." Sam smiled widely.

"You too, big brother." The grip on his shoulder lessened and Dean looked down at his shoes.

"Sam? Did you get your seventy two virgins?"

But Sam was gone.

Dean stood in place for a while, breathing deeply, hanging on to Sam for a while after he was gone.

Sammy whimpered and Dean looked down. "Stupid dog." He muttered, but bent down to pick up the puppy. "Come on, you'll need a collar and shit." The dog licked his face. "Gross." Dean groaned, but couldn't help but smile a little.

It was going to be okay.

Maybe not today, and maybe not tomorrow.

But it would be okay someday, and he'd survive until then.

* * *

He hesitated. 

_"Don't wuss out now." _

Dean groaned, hating that Sam had to speak up at the worst possible times.

"So, where were you when I needed someone to talk me up last night?" Dean whispered, remembering the way he'd totally chickened out of hustling a group of meth-heads because the memories were too fresh and too painful.

There was no answer.

Not like he had expected anything different.

It wasn't like Sam had ever liked his tendency to gamble or hustle in life, so why should death be any different?

He cast one glance back at the Impala and hoped that Sammy wouldn't pee on the carpet again before knocking.

"Coming!" A voice called and the door opened widely.

Dean grunted as a dog's nose found its way between his legs. "Whoa there." Dean muttered and petted the dog.

"Sorry about that." The woman laughed, pulling the dog back by the collar.

"Use to it." Dean explained. "I've got a dog too."

"They just love to stick their noses where is doesn't belong." She laughed and then looked at the man on her doorstep. "May I help you?" She was wiping her hands on a dish towel, her sleeves bunched up around her elbows.

"Um, this is… this is going to sound strange… but um, you were my teacher in high school." Dean said and grinned.

Miss Mason, who'd aged a little, but was still as beautiful as he remembered, frowned slightly. She brushed back her light bangs with a hand that was prune-y from washing dishes.

"Hope you're not here to get your revenge for failing out of college or something." She teased. "Because its not my fault you went to a party school."

Dean laughed. "Nothing like that. I um… you taught a class about religion…" Suddenly it all clicked for her.

"Dean?" She asked and he smiled. "Oh my goodness." She grabbed his shoulders and hugged him.

Dean was taken by surprise, but he hugged her back.

"No one knew what happened to you. Your Dad just took you and your brother both out of school. I've always wondered…" She pulled back. "Well, let me look at you." She ran her eyes up and down and frowned. "You've always been a clumsy one." She rested a finger on the scar on his forehead. "What'd you do here?"

Dean just looked at her for a while, and she just let him. "My brother died." Dean blurted.

"Oh honey." She whispered. "Come on, come inside." She held open the door and Dean came in slowly. "I just finished cleaning up dinner. You hungry? We have plenty of leftovers."

"Thanks. But I all ready ate." Dean lied.

"Well, I'll put some in a dish and you'll take it with you." She insisted and motioned to the couch. "Please, sit down."

"Thanks." Dean sat down and she sat down next to him, their legs touching.

She acted as though over ten years hadn't passed since they'd seen each other last. "How are you handling it?"

"Not very well." Dean admitted. "My Dad… died earlier this year too… and I just, I don't know what to do anymore…"

She reached out and grabbed his wrist.

Just the contact sparked it.

He bit at his lower lip and she was intuitive—and enough of a mother—to know this boy was about to break down.

She put one arm around him and hugged him to her chest, resting her chin on his head and rocked him gently.

It was awkward, but Dean hadn't been touched by someone—because ghosts and Lab puppies don't count—in so long that he moved into the touch. And because he couldn't say anything, because nothing could tell her how he felt and there were no words for the emptiness and the pain; he cried.

Just a little at first, but then he hugged her back and started to sob. Quietly, but his breath was shuddering and his shoulders shaking.

She sat there, shushing him soothingly, rocking him like the mother he lost so many years ago, and she knew it wasn't her place to do so, but he needed someone—anyone—and she was just so thankful he'd come to her instead of a gun or drugs, because he wasn't the first student she'd lost to grief.

"How… how do you get over something like this?" Dean asked.

"You never get over it, Dean." Miss Mason whispered. "You just go on. Sometimes that's all you can do. You go on, and everyday it gets a little better. And I know I told you kids to throw out all those clichés, but those that we love, never really leave us, Dean. They stay in our hearts and our memories and we can always visit them there."

Dean nodded and they let go of each other.

"Thank you." Dean whispered and sniffled a little. Words wouldn't heal his wounds, they both knew, but sometimes just knowing someone cared enough to speak them could make all the difference. She nodded.

"Thank you for coming to me." She stood up. "You know, I still have one of your papers."

"You kept it?" Dean asked, confused by the topic change.

She nodded. "One minute." She disappeared down the hall and Dean took the opportunity to look around at pictures.

She'd married Mr. Wagner, the art teacher, and that didn't surprise him at all. She'd had two more kids. Two girls. Cute too.

"Right here." She came back with a folder and sat back down. The papers smelled musty, but Dean recognized his handwriting instantly. "It was a free write for one of those practice writing tests. You remember those?" She asked, smiling.

"Hell on paper? Yeah, I think so." Dean joked.

"You wrote about love." She explained and smiled when he groaned. "I don't love a lot of things. My car, my favorite leather jacket and the necklace my Dad gave me when I turned thirteen are among the only personal possessions that I love. I don't love a lot of people. I love my Dad. I love my brother. They're really all I need, actually. If I had to start all over, I'd be okay as long as I had them. I love memories. I love my Mom and the memories I have of the four of us together, a real family. I love that. My Mom died when I four and there isn't a day that goes by that I don't think about her and miss her. But my love keeps her with me. She'll never really die as long as I love her."

She looked at him. "Can't think of a better way to put it than that." She set the paper down and shook his hands in hers. "Time heals everything, Dean. That I can promise you. The things that seem terrible today, will be bad memories and twinges of pain in a few years. Tomorrow is always another day to make things better. It just takes time."

"How much time?" Dean asked, his chin still shaking. She smiled sadly and put on hand on his cheek.

"That depends on you."

Dean stayed for a few more hours and they just talked. He met her husband and her kids and she did give him a casserole dish with leftovers in it.

She told him to bring it back because that was her best dish.

He told her he'd never dream of keeping her best dish and he'd get it back soon.

Dean got in the car and ignored the _almost-there-but-not-quite_ figure in the passenger seat as his face burned.

"Told you she'd make you feel better."

"Shut up, Sam." Dean muttered.

Sam laughed and when Dean turned, Sam was gone.

"I love you, little brother." He sighed. "And I know I told you'd I'd be around as long as you needed me… but I'm not quite done here yet."

* * *

_His hand was about as twice as big as hers, but she didn't seem to mind and she squeezed two of his fingers. _

_She was sobbing brokenly as they stared at the headstone. _

_"So… Daddy's buried down there?" Harper asked. _

_She'd just turned eight, she didn't need this shit. _

_Sam was trying to consol Ben as the kid hid up in the oak tree across the cemetery. _

_Dean shook his head. "No. This is just a special place to come visit to remember him." _

_He didn't have the heart to tell her that Uncle Josh had burned her Daddy and thrown his ashes in the river he'd loved to fish. _

_"But I can remember him always, right? Anywhere?" She asked, looking up at him with those big eyes that reflected the pain he'd earned early on as well. _

_"Of course." Dean agreed and continued to stare at the headstone. _

_"Then I want to go to Disneyland and remember him." She smiled and squeezed his hand. "Daddy always said he'd take us to Disneyland one day. I'll take him there." She put her hand over his heart. "Josh said he's here." _

_"Josh knows what he's talking about." Dean answered vaguely and Harper looked at him. _

_"Ben doesn't think so. Ben says Daddy is gone for good and that God took him away." _

_"God took my Mom too." Dean whispered, trying to find some way to explain death to the little girl. _

_"Why?" _

_"Because she was needed in heaven." _

_"Did Daddy go to heaven to?" _

_"I think so." _

_"Is he an angel?" _

_Dean laughed picturing her father, a big man who he'd always associated with tobacco and five o'clock shadow, in a white robe with wings. "Maybe he is, or maybe he's up there with your mother, watching out for you and Ben." _

_Part of the reason they'd been drawn to Josh and the kids was the fact that Harper's mother had died six months after her birth. However, it hadn't had anything to do with demons. A black dog actually. _

_The same thing that had killed her father. He'd spent his life hunting down those damn things. And Dean was sure the cycle would repeat with Ben and Harper. _

_"There is no such thing as angels, Harper. God took him because he was a bad guy and he killed things." _

_Dean dropped Harper's hand and gave the thirteen year old a hard shove. "Don't talk like that!" Dean yelled. "Your father was a good—a fucking great—man and he killed monsters! He saved lives and if God took him it was because he needed another fucking angel to keep this world good!" Dean stopped, shocked that he had lost it so terribly. _

_He'd never yelled at Ben, let alone laid a hand on him. _

_"Told you Daddy was angel." Harper whispered, peaking at her brother from around Dean's leg. _

_Ben bit at his lower lip and stared heatedly at the grave stone. _

_Dean squeezed his shoulder. _

_"Ben, I didn't mean to yell at you…" _

_"I told him not to go." Ben whispered. "I asked him to stay with us because I had a bad feeling. Something just felt off… but he didn't listen. A little girl had gotten attacked and he asked me how I would have felt if it was Harper… so I let him go. My last words to him were, "Fine, go get fucking killed." I didn't mean it." Ben sobbed, covering his face with his hands. "I know he was a good man, but why… if the world is so bad… wouldn't the angels do more good down here?" _

_"God might be a jerk sometimes, but he knows what he's doing, Ben." Dean whispered and pulled the young teen into a hug, because man, did he need it. _

_Dean smiled when Harper's tiny arms wrapped around his waist and he rested a hand on her head. _

_"You guys talk, I'm gunna go find Sammy." _

_Dean left them behind, turning once only to smile when he saw Ben reach for his little sister's hand. _

_Sam was at the far end of the cemetery where a peaceful little pond had been man made a few years ago. The fourteen year old was tossing rocks into the pond, over throwing a few because he was so damn angry. _

_"I always knew baseball wasn't your sport." Dean teased. _

_Sam barely acknowledged him. He grunted and continued to throw stones. _

_They stood in silence—save for the sound of rocks hitting irrigation water—for a while. _

_"I didn't know what to say to him." Sam whispered. "His Dad just died… how do you make that better." _

_"You can't. Only time can." _

_"I told him that. He asked me how much time." Sam turned to his brother. "People always tell you that time makes things better, but they never tell you how much time." _

_"Because it's always different, Sammy." _

_"Well… there should be one universal amount of time." Sam pouted. _

_Dean couldn't help but grin. "Oh, so you want to mourn my death for the same amount of time you'd mourn the death of a goldfish?" _

_Sam stopped throwing rocks and turned away from his brother. It took Dean about a second to realize that Sam was crying. _

_"Sammy?" _

_No answer. _

_"Sam, what's wrong." Dean placed a hand on Sam's shoulder and his little brother whirled around and hugged him tightly. _

_"This had me thinking Dean." Sam whispered, his face nearly buried in Dean's shirt. "If Dad dies… its going to hurt so bad for so long…" Dean was a little startled, not only by the physical contact—because Winchesters were too tough for hugs and _I LoveYou_s—but by the strange twist in his brother's mood. _

_"Dad isn't going anywhere…" _

_"But if you die, Dean…" Sam paused. "No amount of time will ever heal that." _

_Dean didn't have a response for that one. _

* * *

"I'm sorry I didn't get you a grave." Dean whispered. "I just… I wanted your spirit to be free, you know?" 

He sighed and watched as Sammy—the dog—ran towards the river and froze before he went into the water.

"Dumb dog you got me, Sam." Dean whispered teasingly.

"I still don't get it." He said suddenly. "How you came back, I mean." He sighed and ran a hand down his face. "I mean… maybe it was all in my head. Or maybe…" He shook his head. "I'm not saying I believe in God or anything now… I just… maybe we're not alone up there. I mean, he fucking owes me a favor by now right? Maybe that's what you coming back to me was. A favor."

Dean kicked at the dirt at his feet. "I kinda just threw your ashes in the wind, hope you don't mind." Dean shrugged.

"I've been thinking about what you said to me once, when Josh's brother died, about how no amount of time could ever make the pain you'd feel if I died, go away." Dean sighed.

"I should have told you then, that pain you would have felt is only temporary. Time does heal everything. Some wounds leave scars, like what your death is going to do to me. But time makes things hurt less. And Sam… you're not really dead until I stop loving you…" He grinned as Sammy slipped off a rock and fell into the water, swimming like a mad dog back to the shore. "I'm always going to miss you. There is always going to be something missing, but the pain won't always be this bad. I'm always going to love you, little brother, so a part of you will always be with me."

A gust of wind shook the trees around him and he smiled.

"And that's what you'd been trying to tell me, huh?"

Sammy ran over to him, stopped two feet away, and shook himself dry. Dean grimaced, but didn't jump away.

"Dumb dog."

Sammy sat down on Dean's foot, something he did whenever he wanted some attention and stared up at his owner with big brown eyes.

"Come on, let's go get something to eat."

* * *

_"Dean, hang back please." Miss Mason said gently. Dean nodded and stopped packing up his things. _

_She walked over to him with a paper in her hands. _

_"I quite enjoyed your paper." She lied. "Especially the "The End." Quite clever." _

_Dean shrugged. "I was at my Uncle's house and I had to look over his daughter." Dean lied. "I was distracted." _

_She handed him the paper. "So then do it again." _

_"Miss Mason…" He whined. _

_"Dean. I know you're better than this paper. I want to know you, Dean Winchester. Why won't you let me?" She said gently. "I'm sure all the other teachers you've ever had just wanted you to do well in their class. But I'm different, I care about my students and I want them to do well in life, kiddo." She thrust the paper into his hands. "So, you take this and do it again. Turn it in any time this week." _

_Dean sighed heavily, but nodded. "Okay Miss Mason." He stopped in the doorway. "I got what you said, about the wind…" _

_"Do tell." Miss Mason said sincerely, sitting on her desk. _

_Dean came back into the room and sat on his desk. _

_"Well the obvious. I mean, religion is like the wind because you can feel what it does, but you can't see it. Except you can see the results of the wind and unless you're looking you can't see the results of religion. And it's not windy all the time, just sometimes. It's not windy all over, just in some places. Just like sometimes, you need religion more at one time than you do at another. Sometimes you need it at home, or at work or half way across the country. But you always have it." He paused. "I just… I went home and thought about what you'd said and I realized that you were right, I just wasn't looking at it hard enough." She smiled, and he continued. "Religion isn't about worshiping a deity. It's about believing that no matter what, there is always someone there looking out for us. Through good and bad. I still think it's a crutch… but what's wrong with a crutch when you're hurt?" _

_Miss Mason felt tears in her eyes—this boy was something special—and she let them close, shaking her head. "Nothing is wrong with that." She whispered and got up. She walked over to Dean and placed her hands on his shoulders. "You're a great person, Mr. Winchester and I look forward to seeing the man you'll become someday." _

_Dean's eyes shone from the compliment. _

_"Thanks, Miss Mason." He smirked. "Any chance I can get out of that paper now?" _

_Miss Mason laughed. "Not a chance." _

_Dean shrugged. "It was worth a try." _

* * *

"I thought you didn't believe in God." Josh whispered, his eyes still closed, his hands clasped in front of her face. 

Dean shrugged and slid into the seat next to him.

"I still don't know what I believe." He whispered.

Josh opened his eyes and looked at him. He sighed loudly. "Look at us." Josh whispered. "Two men who've lost it all and we find ourselves in God's house, doubting his existence with every breath we take."

"I just came to find you." Dean whispered. "Churches have always freaked me out." Dean admitted.

Josh smiled, looking much older than his thirty years.

"How are you?" Josh asked. "Bobby told me what happened to Sam."

"Bobby just can't keep his mouth shut."

"He was like family to me too, Dean. I always kept tabs on the two of you." Josh explained. "Your father was a good friend, and you and Sam were always there for Ben and Harper."

"I'm holding up okay, but what about you?" Dean asked. "I mean… it's barely been a year since you lost them."

Josh swallowed. "I'm healing." He whispered and then looked up at the stained glass window where a cross was depicted. "And getting a little help from God."

Dean only nodded.

"Don't give me any of your _religion is a sign of weakness_ crap right now." Josh snapped. "It feels better to think that my family was taken for a reason, that they left for bigger and better things and that they're okay until we see each other again."

"It does." Dean agreed. He let his fingers play with the amulet around his neck. He chewed at his lower lip and he knew Josh was waiting for him to speak what was on his mind. "I saw Sam."

"Dean?"

"He came to me, as a ghost."

"Are you dumb?" Josh cried. "Rule number one, always salt and burn the bones! Always!" Josh was near hysteria. "It hurts so much more to cremate them after you've all ready gone through their funeral once, Dean!" And Dean knew his friend was speaking from personal experience.

"Calm down old man. I salted and burned Sam's body." His stomach turned. "He said he was there because I needed him."

Josh's face slowly broke into a smile.

"What?" Dean asked suspiciously.

"Well if that doesn't make you believe someone is up there watching out for us, I don't know what will."

_Maybe it isn't God looking out for me._ Dean thought. _I wonder if that's how it works. Your family becomes your God—your guardian angels? _

Dean sighed. "So, if God took Sammy away to be an angel… do you think he wears the white dress and has pretty wings?" Dean asked seriously.

Josh looked at him and the last remaining Winchester cocked a grin.

"You're sick." Josh muttered, but couldn't help but laugh.

* * *

There is something to be said of little brothers. 

They spend years following you around, pretending to do everything and anything that you do.

And it bugs the hell out of you.

But the minute they stop, you miss it.

And when it stops forever, you miss it everyday.

Because something in you changes when you become a big brother. It's not like being a husband or a wife. You can't divorce your brother.

No matter where you go in life, or where he goes in life, in the back of your mind he'll always be there.

Even when God—who you still don't know if you believe in, because how could he let something like that happen?—separates you—because not even He can understand the complicity of that bond, or know that the only time you're complete is when you're together—you can go on because you know if the roles had been switched you'd have wanted him to live.

And sometimes that's all you can do.

Live and remember.

And know that you're never alone.

_The End._

_November, 2006._

* * *

**A/N:** So, I don't know... I was really kind of proud of this, but I'm still really freaked out about it. I was going to delete it, and redo it. But I figured what the hey? I can always do that later.

Thanks to everyone who reviewed the first chapter.

And if I didn't get around to responding to your review, I'm very sorry. Maybe this time around.

So, please, if you read, review. Tell me what you thought.

Thanks!

Kena


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